The Universe is Rarely So Lazy
by ReaderWriterPoet
Summary: JohnLock/UniLock!- Traveling in different social circles, they never said much at all to each other. John has always been intrigued but believed Sherlock to be uninterested in outside disturbances so he never approached him. They are both quite surprised when they find themselves not only at the same university, but roommates as well. Rated M for safety and eventual smut/fluff!


The Universe is Rarely So Lazy...

**JohnLock/UniLock!- John and Sherlock have gone to school together since their elementary years. Traveling in different social circles (or in Sherlock's case a circle of one); they never said much at all to each other. John has always been intrigued but believed Sherlock to be uninterested in outside disturbances so he never approached him. They are both quite surprised when they find themselves not only at the same university, but roommates as well.**

**Coincidence? The universe is rarely so lazy...**

**I am an American so there may be moments of mixed nationality slang! Apologies in advance! I will be going off of the American school system when it comes to high school flashbacks because I don't wish to butcher the British grading system. I will also be creating a made up university because... because this is my story and I can... :). [Side Note: My cousin graduated three years after me despite being four years younger... You Brits are lucky ha ha...]**

**Please Read & Review...! Lots of love from the U.S.A.!**

**I own nothing; everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, M. Gatiss, and S. Moffat... Thank you Britain for having such an amazing talent of entertaining the masses... I wish I lived in England so I could get more of your programming honestly... By the way, if there are any of you out there who have recommendations for me on shows to watch please let me know. I can't get enough of BBC!**

John approached the gates leading up to the dorm he'd be living in for the next four years. The words _Baker Hall_ were frames in the wrought iron in shiny silver lettering. Shrubbery and landscaped flowers framed the entranceway as he hauled a suitcase and duffel bag towards the double doors at the front entryway. He turned to check that his parents were still behind him, Harry too, as he connected his fob to the sensor, causing the door to swing inwards automatically, the mechanized whirl silently humming.

"Thank god for automatic doors," Harry huffed, as she shouldered her one small box that she insisted that she carried. "What do you have in her Johnny, rocks?" she huffed.

"Just textbooks and condoms, Harriet," John threw a grin over his shoulder as he threw back an equally unpleasant name. He hated when people called him Johnny. He did however; enjoy the look on Harry's face as she looked disapprovingly down at the box of books, and, if it could be believed, condoms.

"Pig," she huffed, as she balanced the box on her hip and punched the elevator button. "Top floor, yeah?"

John nodded, and he stepped back to allow his parents to enter the chrome doors before he did. As the elevator doors dinged and shut, John felt the slight unsteadiness of the ascent and readjusted his grip on his dad's old Army duffel. _God, I hope my roommate isn't in. My parents are sure to embarrass me with crying as soon as we set everything down._

John stepped into the narrow hallway to see several doors wide open as young men walked from room to room; upper classmen to see old friends, and freshman to find their rooms as well as their way to the R.A.'s room. John, who had gone to orientation, and already had his room key and number, walked towards the western end of the hall to room 221. The dorm being an old one, it consisted of only three floors; common rooms on the first level, 100 rooms starting on the second, and 200 rooms on the third. John was quite happy with the orientation of his room however, he was always partial to the light of a sunset filtering through his windows.

221 was a split dorm room, two shared bedrooms divided by a common living room and kitchenette. His room 221 B was to the right, across from its twin 221 A. There were two rooms, with two residents to a room, and the four of them sharing the common area. Unlocking the door to 221 B, John cut on the lights to see his future home for the next four years. One side was already cluttered with items. Halfway unpacked boxes, stacks of books, a human skull so realistic John had to turn to Harriet to see if she thought it as strange as he did; her expression didn't disappoint.

'_No sign of my roommate though, that's good. Not unless he's bringing up more stuff.'_ John frowned at the idea of _more_ clutter, the room seemed to be overflowing as it was, and John hadn't even unpacked yet. '_Guess I don't have to worry on choosing a side,' _John thought.

"Oh, John, it's a lot nicer than I thought it'd be!" exclaimed Mrs. Watson happily.

"It should be nice, what with the amount it costs." John's father grumbled half-heartedly.

"Oh, you!" John's mother chastised, "Johnny got grades enough for a full ride! Be happy that he's here! We are so very proud of you dear." Mrs. Watson turned to smile at her only son. "Now let's unpack then say our goodbyes, we've a long ride back home." she commanded, trying to appear joyful even though her voice was etched with sadness over having to leave her youngest behind.

"Don't worry about it too much, mum" John pleaded, "I'll do most of it later, let's go out to lunch one last time before you leave."

"Oh, if you insist," John's mother sniffled, "But let's at least put up your clothes and things, they take up the most space, and this room is cluttered enough." John's mother looked as if she were itching to clean the other side of the room as well. Mrs. Watson, former Army wife was known to run a tight and clean ship.

Sherlock wandered about the campus with his collar turned up against the brisk August wind. Groups of students walked together, some lone students trailed by family members with armfuls of luggage as they moved in to their dorms. Baker Hall which was on the hill behind the Partington Library would be his home for the next four years. He had to admit, its location in proximity to his classes, the library, and the transit system left little to be desired. Also, no one above him and he had taken the outer wall in preparation of noise that may be heard from other rooms. His situation was as ideal as he could make it to be. He flicked his lighter to life as he bought a cigarette up to his lips, inhaling the distinct taste of low tar. After only a few drags he became bored with the habit and snuffed out the lit end with his heel. He trudged up the slight incline of Hollis Hill towards his dorm.

_'Time to face whatever idiot the universe has set up to be my roommate,' _thought Sherlock.

John trudged down the hall with boxes in arms towards the elevator where a dark and tall figure was just getting off. He rushed to make it before the doors closed, the figure bumping into him with a barely audible grunt of sorry that half-heartedly left the lips of the figure.

_ 'Self-absorbed prick,'_ John thought. He took the elevator down to the bottom floor, placing the boxes in the recycling bins before heading back upstairs. As he reached this room, entering the common area, he noticed a light shining from under the door of 221 B.

_ 'Time to face the roommate,'_ John straightened unconsciously as he unlocked the door and entered. He opened the door and turned to see the same tall figure he had bumped into facing away from the door. But at the moment the figure was coatless, shirtless, and almost pants-less if the hands unbuckling the belt around his trim waist were any indication of their owner's current activity.

"Sorry mate. Didn't think to knock." John quickly turned away in anticipation of giving his roommate some privacy.

"No need to leave, just shut the door will you," the deep baritone voice sent rich waves of sensory vibration through John's ears. John closed the door and returned his gaze to his roommate's naked back. Lean but corded muscles framed and equally lean skeleton and dark hair curled about the crown of its head and neck. The face of his roommate turned before their eyes stopped on each other in shock.

"Sherlock?" John questioned in surprise.

Sherlock stared at the boy across from him. Amend that, the young man and roommate he would be seeing for the next four years. _John Watson? I didn't think I'd ever see him again. Was sure he'd go straight into the military._

As Sherlock's brain sped and quickly came to the conclusion that John must be on military scholarship to be able to afford tuition and accommodation at Boscombe University, he also came to the decision that he should pretend not to know who John was. After all, Sherlock had never approached him in all the years they had attended school together; he'd seen no need to. Not even after he developed a startlingly intense attraction after seeing John play football [soccer to Americans] on the field in eighth grade. He had only ever spoken 15 non-sequential words to John in the 19 classes they had shared throughout both middle and high school. John had replied non-sequentially with 27 words and Sherlock remembered every one of them. The extra effort in word count on John's part was clearly a result from the added pleasantries people seemed obliged to offer to everyone and every inane exchange of information.

(Flashback 1)

"Excuse me; do you know where the nurse's office is?" Sherlock barely raises his head to see a blonde boy walking towards him with his arm crossed over his chest, a Ziploc bag of ice held against his right wrist. _'Blonde. Approximately twelve years of age. Football injury. Right handed. Likes to read. Youngest child.'_ all of these thoughts flew through Sherlock's mind almost instantaneously as he tilted his head in a general direction.

"Across from the gym, red door." Sherlock replied before returning to the biography of Sir Edmund Hillary.

(Flashback 2)

"You wouldn't happen to have the time, would you?" asked a passing student in the hallway.

"Half-past one," Sherlock quickly replied, not even needing to look down at his watch to know the exact time.

"Thanks, mate." replied John cheerfully.

(Flashback 3)

"Pen," asks Sherlock randomly.

"Hmmm," John looks up, brow furrowing with an unasked question_. 'Do sounds count as words during a word count?' _Sherlock wonders. '_Yes, in John's case they do_.'

"A pen, can I borrow one?" Sherlock asks with a surprising amount of patience. It's the last day of exams before graduation. The last time he will see John Watson. His only way of an excuse to talk to him was to come unprepared on exam day, knowing that John as a rule would be happy enough to help a fellow student.

"Oh! Of course, no problem," John smiled and handed Sherlock a pen from his pockets. _John H. Watson_ was stamped in silver lettering on the side. _'Birthday present. From a parent, most likely father; men tend to give functional gifts. Carries it in pocket of shirt not jacket, on him at all times, so obviously important to him.'_ Sherlock deduced.

After the exam, John rushed out of his seat to join a group of friends so excited at the end of their exams to leave the school they had been bound to for years. He left his pen behind.

_'Good, an excuse not to give it back. Goodbye, John.' _thought Sherlock.

"Pardon," questioned Sherlock.

_'He doesn't remember you, you idiot! You spoke what? Twice in twelve years?' _John admonished himself silently.

"Oh, I'm John. John Watson. We went to school together. Had homeroom and English together senior year at Milverton High School." John said trying to cover up his apparently unmemorable and distant connection to his roommate, a man John had been intrigued with for years.

"Ah," Sherlock replied, though John appeared to be just a hazy memory by the look of Sherlock's blank expression.

"Sherlock Holmes," he replied, extending a long arm and shaking John's hand.

"Yes, I know." John replied with an easy smile.

Sir Edmund Hillary was the first man to climb Mt. Everest. He made his living as a beekeeper... I thought it'd be cool for Sherlock to be interested in someone famous for something that they aren't known for. He always seems to respect the things that other people take for granted.

Partington Library, Boscombe, Baker Hall, Milverton... hopefully there will be other snippets of fandomness that you may catch on to :)


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